


Lovesick Fucking Fools

by welpcalledit



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (that one is the Hound and Arya), Also I Kind Of Referenced That Scene With Jon And Sansa And Tormund in Ep. 4 bc I Loved It, And Honestly I’m A Messy Bitch, Arya and Gendry in Love, Brother-Sister Relationships, But I Have Been Questioning Her Choices This Season, Except Gendry Who Is As Much In Love With Arya In The Show As In This, F/M, I Gave Bran A Little Tiny Bit of Personality, I'm Sure There Are More Tags But I'm Not Good At This, I’m Not Anti-Daenerys, Jon Does Not Approve, Marriage Proposal, Not Canon Compliant After Ep. 3, OOC, Ok Also, Possessive Jon Snow, Post 8x3, Pseudo Father-Daughter Relationship, R Plus L Equals J, Sansa Approves, Sister-Sister Relationship, So I Play That Up In This Fic, They're All A Little OOC, Who Lives For The Stark/Targaryen Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 07:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18751780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welpcalledit/pseuds/welpcalledit
Summary: The many conversations that must be had before Arya and Gendry get married. (Now with bonus plot because I have no self control!)





	1. JON

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back and better than ever!  
> Guys. Our ship is canon! Legit one of the first pieces of fic I ever wrote was Gendrya like three years ago and look at us now! We got flirting! We got kissing! We got forge sex! We got an 'I love you!' What a time to be alive!  
> Anyway, I started writing this after Ep 2 (because of course) and it was supposed to be a lil one shot about Arya convincing Daenerys to legitimize Gendry so they can get married, as seen from the perspective of her siblings. That plan was quickly derailed and it turned into 10k of Supportive!Sansa, Jealous!Jon, and Protective!Hound. Also I accidentally added the beginnings of an actual plot because I have not learned my lesson about starting fic that I know I won't finish. My bad.  
> That being said, I'm gonna mark this as finished for now, but I'll probably continue developing the plot bc I'm having fun with it so far, so feel free to subscribe if you'd like to see where it goes.
> 
> 5/8 NOTE:  
> It was pointed out to me that this fic seems a little Anti-Dany. Here’s the thing, I think she’s a totally interesting character and I’ve loved her from the beginning, but I also love drama and truth be told I love Sansa the most so if you’re a hardcore Daenerys Stan you might not like the tone of this one. Also, I’m not into Jonerys. I tagged it because the relationship is mentioned but it’s not my cup of tea.

 

Arya had left just a day after the battle. She said she needed to process, to be away from all the people who wouldn’t stop staring at her, yet she took the bastard blacksmith with her. Jon was bitter about it, jealous that someone new seemed to have all of the affection that used to belong to him. Sansa rolled her eyes at him.

“You couldn’t be the only man in her life forever, Jon,” Sansa said with a sigh. “Arya has lived an entire life away from us, away from Westeros. She is never going to be the girl she was when we last saw her nearly eight years ago, and you have to accept that.” Jon scowled while Sansa tilted her head to review the parchment documenting their stores. She was frowning and biting her lip as she scanned the numbers.

“Don’t tell me we still don’t have enough,” Jon said, moving toward her so he could also see. The ledger was missing the red it’d held just days ago, signifying the huge food deficit they were on the brink of.

“It’s not that. We just. We have plenty, now.” Jon looked at her, saw her shoulders hunch at the thought of so many dead. He wrapped her in a tight hug, giving her the only comfort he could at that moment. When he released her the grief was gone from her face and her back was straight once more. She showed not a hint of weakness and Jon found himself once again impressed by the power emanating from her. She was strong like he never expected her to be, smart and calculating and confident, but she still had the capacity to be kind, and even soft. Catelyn and Ned Stark would both be incredibly proud of her, and everyone who knew them and saw her would say the same.

“I’ve not seen you with the Dragon Queen in a while,” Sansa started, pulling him out of his musings. His expression clouded at her words, and she noticed, of course. She didn’t say another word but the inquisitive raise of her brow and the demanding glint in her eye was enough to persuade him to speak if only to make an excuse.

“She and I haven’t spoken much recently. The loss of Ser Mormont has been very trying on her.” It was only a half lie but he still felt guilty for it. He just wasn’t ready to reveal his newfound parentage, afraid that it would lessen his claim on not just the North, but the closeness he shared with his family. Bran was like a stranger to him and Arya had been so different before the battle, that is to say nothing of the ensuing days where she’d hidden herself away. Sansa was the only person he trusted for honesty and companionship in this moment, and he didn’t want to lose that. He met her eyes again, stormy grey against crystal blue, and when she looked away first it didn’t feel like a victory. 

“Well, we’ll need to begin the planning for our march south soon, so I hope she is able to contain her grief. We’ve won the great war, but there is another coming.” She tried to keep the judgment from her tone but he heard it all the same. Dany had lost much of her army and Jorah, but Sansa had lost most of the northernmen and Theon. She suffered just as greatly but maintained her responsibilities and she did not take kindly to the fact that Daenerys was not doing the same. 

“Arya won the Great War you mean. And now she’s gone off to who knows where with Gendry fucking Waters and the only person who has seen her since then is the fucking Hound of all people!” It was not a subtle subject change and Jon and Sansa both knew it, but she let him get away with it, a small smirk on her face.

“Yes, and as the person who won the Great War and defeated the Night King I’d say she’s deserved it. It’s not forever, Jon. She’s already promised to go south with us. She just needs time.” She paused. “Has Arya told you about Braavos?”

“Not really, has she told you?”

“Some. You should ask her about it.”

“She doesn’t want to see me, Sansa.” 

“Really? I seem to remember you red-faced and tear streaked after she sought you out in the Godswood. And wasn’t she at your side as we drew up battle plans? Wasn’t it you she leaned on after defeating the Night King?” Sansa’s tone was getting short and she took a breath to check herself. 

“Yes, but then Gendry took her away from m-” 

“Jon. Stop. Arya is a woman grown. No one owns her, not even you. She is not a possession that can be stolen from you. She is our sister and she is the strongest woman I’ve ever met, including your Targaryen Queen. You would do well to remember that, and watch how you speak of her to me.” Sansa’s voice was steel, her eyes hard, and Jon felt chills down his spine. She was right of course, and Sansa knew better than anyone what men could be like when they felt like they owned someone. She still bore the scars to prove it. He lowered his head and bit his lip, shame cooling his hot temper. Sansa softened, unable to stay mad at Jon after everything they’d been through. She placed her small hand on his arm.

“Just talk to her. Don’t yell, don’t act entitled. Remember that she is you sister and that you love her. Remember she loves you and she came North because she heard that YOU were here. Don’t let your pride or jealousy drive a wedge into our family.” Jon nodded. “Now, as soon as they return I need you to go to the forge to speak with Gendry about our weapons supplies. Perhaps before you speak with him you should remember that you’d have died north of the wall and the Night King would’ve killed us all without him.” Sansa gave him a saccharine smile even as he groaned and turned to the door. 


	2. SANSA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up there are a lot of flashbacks in this fic from here on out, and there is a bit of a time skip between Ch.1 and the rest (about 3 days)

“I want a meeting with the Dragon Queen.” Sansa almost choked on her wine.

“Why in seven hells would you want that?” Arya was pushing the potatoes around her plate as they dined together in Sansa’s solar, already looking bored of the conversation she’d started. 

“I want her to legitimize Gendry.”  
“She’ll never do that,” Sansa scoffed. “To this day she refers to Robert Baratheon as the Usurper. She wouldn’t be able to accept Gendry having even a tentative claim on her Iron Throne.” Arya was looking at her now, her grin sharp as a knife.

“Two things, sweet sister. One: She’ll do it if I demand it. I am a true Stark of Winterfell. I fought side by side with these men, I defended and was defended by them, and I did it without a dragon. I killed the fucking Night King. One word from me and the North will turn on Daenerys Targaryen and put a crown on your head. If she’s half as smart as Tyrion Lannister claims then she’s already considered everything I just said to you and will do damn near anything to prevent that happening.” Sansa tried to maintain her expressionless facade but Arya saw her eyes widen. “And two: Gendry doesn’t want the Iron Throne. Couldn’t care less about it. Hell, as soon as he’s legitimized he’ll probably bend the knee to her to smooth things over.”

“Then why demand he be legitimized in the first place?” 

“Because he’s a stupid, stubborn, honorable bull.” Arya rolled her eyes but her expression was fond. “He won’t marry me without a name. Doesn’t matter how many times I tell him that I don’t care and that I’ve never wanted to marry a lord and that a ‘lowly ‘smith from Flea Bottom’ is more than enough for me, he won’t hear of it. So if he has to be legitimized for me to have him then I’m going to make that happen.” Arya wasn’t looking at Sansa anymore. If she had been she’d have seen her entirely abandon any attempts to conceal her shock. Her little sister, Arya Underfoot who wanted to play with swords and shoot arrows instead of learning songs and doing needlework, Arya Horseface who at the age of eight told Sansa she’d gut any man who tried to force her to marry him, was now looking into the distance with a soft smile on her face, ready to take on a queen for the right to marry her love. Sansa considered a teasing comment, but before she could get the words out she felt moisture collecting in her eyes, and she reached across the table to hug her sister.

“I’m so happy for you, Arya, and so proud. Mother and Father would be too.” Arya accepted the hug, tightening her arms around Sansa for a moment before gently disengaging and leaning back. Sansa tossed her hair over her shoulders and subtly wiped at her eyes. “Well, I’ll speak to Lord Tyrion about arranging an audience. You know Arya, it would’ve been easier if you spoke directly to Jon about meeting with her.” Arya bit her lip, eyes downcast, and Sansa was reminded of Jon doing the same thing when asked about Arya just days earlier. She almost laughed at how similar her stubborn siblings were. 

“Jon and I aren’t speaking much at the moment.” 

“Obviously. But have you tried?”

“Has he?” Arya bit back venomously before her expression turned apologetic. “I know I need to talk to him but I don’t know how.” Sansa watched as Arya took a shuddering breath. “When I killed the Night King I didn’t feel pride or relief like everyone else. I didn’t feel anything, Sansa. It was like I wasn’t even a person. It was like being No One again.”

“Again?” Sansa’s question was gentle, she wasn’t asking for any more than Arya was ready to share, but she was still so curious about Arya’s mysterious past. Arya ignored her as she continued. 

“Then everyone was celebrating me, calling me Azor Ahai, the princess that was promised, and I don’t want to be that person. If I am the princess that was promised, if I was destined to do this because of some prophecy, then everything that has happened for the last eight years was leading me to this position. I feel so so guilty. Mother, Father, Robb, Rickon, Lady… They all died for me to be in the right place.”

“That’s bullshit!” Arya’s head popped up, eyes losing their faraway look at Sansa’s unladylike exclamation. A small smile quirked her lips. “Prophecies are shit, and so is the misplaced guilt you seem to be carrying around!” Sansa’s fists were shaking, furious that her sister, their savior, was hurting this way. 

“I know. Or, I’m learning. It’s hard. Sandor was the first one to see it. He grabbed me by the scruff of my neck like a pup and turned me to face him. Didn’t even flinch when I almost put my dagger through his throat. He said ‘listen to me little she-wolf. You get that survivors guilt shit out of your head. We all fought a war together but we lived and they didn’t and that’s all it is.’ I think he just meant Beric and Theon and the others who died in the battle, didn’t realize I was agonizing over eight years of death and grief. But he was right. And now it doesn’t hurt so bad.”

“Sandor Clegane is a good man, as much as he tries not to be,” Sansa replied thoughtfully, remembering when she was fifteen and he wrapped her in his cloak to escort her out of the throne room after everyone watched her be stripped and beaten, and how now years later he spent his evenings in conversation with her. Arya lifted her brow at Sansa’s expression but didn’t press.

“He is. He was the first to know Gendry and I were together. He told Gendry he was a good smith and not to give me a reason to stab him. Gendry’s face was so offended at the implication!” Arya chuckled softly and Sansa grinned with her. She saw no need to inform Arya that there had indeed been a speech warning Gendry what would happen to him should he hurt Arya. Sandor was right after all, Arya would geld Gendry should he act against her, and they all knew she was more than capable of protecting herself. Still, Ser Clegane had a definite soft spot for her sister. 

“I’m happy to know you’re happy with Gendry, Arya” 

“Me too. I just wish Jon felt the same. He was so angry, Sansa. The things he said to Gendry, the names he called him. They were wrong. They hurt him, and he and Gendry are friends- or were. And the way he looked at me, like I’d somehow betrayed him… I don’t want him to look at me like that, and as much as I love Jon I can’t let him hurt Gendry. Jon should know better than anyone what it means to feel inferior because of your birth, but he spit the word ‘bastard’ at Gendry like a curse and I’ll not let him do it again.” Arya had seemed angry as she talked about Jon, but then she sighed and deflated with sadness. “And if that means we have to go away to be together, go be Lord and Lady of Storm’s End or go back to Braavos or go west of Westeros, then that’s what we’ll do.”

The conversation was starting to give Sansa whiplash. She’d seen more emotion from her sister in ten minutes than she had in all the previous months they’d been reunited. Arya was happy and in love, but she was hurting without her family’s approval, angry at Jon for being needlessly cruel, and battling survivor’s guilt, all while preparing for another war. Now here she was, confessing to Sansa that they would run away as soon as the looming war was over if Jon couldn’t accept Gendry. Well that was unacceptable. If her sister was going to leave Winterfell it would only be because she genuinely wanted to do so. No one would chase the Starks from their home again, and Sansa was going to make sure Jon and Arya both knew that. 

“Oh Arya, Winterfell is your home as much as it is mine or Jon’s. You are of the North, you saved the North, and you won’t be leaving just because our brother is an idiot. I’ll talk to Jon. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he’s banging on your door to apologize.” Sansa was gratified to see Arya give her a tight smile, eyes thanking her when her words couldn’t. “So shall we begin planning your wedding then?” Sansa laughed when Arya flicked a bit of potato at her, sticking out her tongue, and Arya’s eyes went wide when Sansa flicked food back. With a howl she launched across the table, Sansa’s laughs turning to shrieks as Arya tickled her. Brienne barged into the room a moment later to find them both red faced and laughing like little girls.

“My Ladies?” She questioned, the confusion marring her features only managing to set the two off into peals of laughter again. Brienne was at a loss, she’d never seen either Stark sister with such a wide smile and it caught her off guard. Then she remembered they hadn’t been able to properly be sisters in almost eight years and grinned at their antics before excusing herself and resuming her position at Sansa’s door. 

“Careful sister, or all of Winterfell will know you’re still entirely capable of acting like a child,” Arya teased, helping Sansa to her feet.

“They won’t have a moment to think of me when they see you mooning over your blacksmith love,” Sansa japed back. “Perhaps we’ll have a tourney for your wedding and you can crown him the king of love and beauty? I’m sure the Dragon Queen would love to attend with Jon.” Arya didn’t scowl like Sansa expected, instead looking thoughtful before laughing again. 

“It would be fitting, don’t you think? A Stark crowning a Baratheon king of love and beauty in front of a Targaryen, when everyone knows Robert’s Rebellion really started when a Targaryen crowned a Stark in front of a Baratheon.” Sansa thought about her sister’s words.

“If there is an afterlife Robert is probably drunk and laughing in it. He always wanted our houses joined.” The sisters sobered a bit, taking their places at the table once more and eating in a comfortable silence. 

“I’d like to be married in the Godswood,” Arya said as they finished their meal. 

“Yes I expected so. Before the march south?” 

“If the Dragon Queen will acquiesce,” She nodded. Sansa sighed.

“Arya, I know Gendry does not want to marry you without the Baratheon name, but even if she says no, I’ll marry the pair of you myself. We’re long past the time when I was scandalized at my sister marrying a bastard. Gendry is a kind and brave man and he makes you happier than I ever imagined you’d be again. Besides, it’d be a bit hypocritical for me to judge a bastard now, considering I proclaimed Jon Snow the King in the North.” Sansa smiled at her sister. “Anyway, I’ve a castle to run and you’ve got boys to fight with swords I’m sure. I’ll have Brienne let you know when I’ve arranged your meeting with the Queen.” Arya rose and inclined her head at her sister in goodbye, but as she reached the door Sansa spoke again, voice unsure. “Arya, would you do it? Would you really make me Queen in the North if you could? Even instead of Jon?”

“In a heartbeat,” Arya replied firmly before taking her leave. Sansa slumped back in her chair, lost in thought and marveling at the change in their relationship after 10 years of animosity and almost as much time spent apart. Then she stacked the plates back onto the tray for the maids to carry away. Sansa stood next to the window while she sipped from her water goblet. She rarely indulged in wine or ale, Cersei’s drunkenness too often came to mind when she was offered drink, despite the years that had passed. 

She watched the people working in the yard make their way to the castle for dinner. She almost missed Arya who drifted past them like a ghost as she made her way to the forge. Some minutes later she saw Sandor head toward the light spilling out the doors, but he paused as he reached them and turned toward her room, his eyes finding hers through the glass that separated them. She tilted her goblet toward him and he nodded in understanding. Their evening chats were becoming a routine she greatly enjoyed, and she crossed her room to pick up her needlepoint, knowing it would relax her and the time it would take to finish her current pattern would be just long enough for him to eat and make his way toward her room. Perhaps if she got impatient she would simply go to the hall and drag him behind her like Arya often did with Gendry, she thought to herself with a grin.   


	3. GENDRY

He could feel her eyes on him as he worked. He always knew when she was watching, though when he told her so she scoffed. It was true though, when she was nearby he felt warm, like the northern chill couldn’t touch him with her at his side. He tried to ignore her as he hammered away at the sword before him. Jaime Lannister had commissioned it for he and Brienne’s shared squire, Podrick. Gendry had misliked the boy at first. He was closer to Arya in age and they got on well, Podrick constantly seeking Arya out to practice swordplay with. The time they spent together made Gendry outrageously jealous, and of course she noticed. She’d called him stupid before kissing him so sweetly he forgot his name. 

“I don’t want to do that with Podrick Payne.” She told him, breaking the kiss, and that was enough for him to let it go. Now he was making a sword for the young man. Something strong and smooth and balanced, worthy of being carried into battle by someone who’d held his own against the dead. 

He focused on the way the metal sang in his hands and lost track of time. It was only when he was dipping the completed sword into the water, Arya standing on the other side of the barrell holding a rag out to him, that he remembered she was there. 

“How long?”

“Since I came in? Only about an hour.” Gendry took the rag and used it to mop the sweat from his face. He smirked when he noticed the way Arya’s eyes followed the play of muscle in his bicep. She met his eyes and he shot her a wink, causing the faintest hint of red to color her cheeks. 

“How was your supper with Lady Sansa?” A genuine smile came to her face and he was happy to see it. The Stark sisters had a strained relationship, he knew, but every day it seemed to get better. 

“It was good. She told me she’d marry us herself, bastard name or not, by the way.” 

“Arya, that’s-”

“Yes I know that’s not the point, you won’t dishonor me, blah blah blah. I’ve heard your arguments, Gendry. I just wanted you to know that Sansa approves of you. Not of your name or your titles or lands. She approves of you, because you’re a good man and you make me happy and I love you, and that’s all that matters.” Gendry had to bite his lip not to gasp at the way she said ‘I love you.’ It came so easily, like breathing, and it was a gift he never expected to receive. But that was Arya, surprising him again. 

“I love you too,” he replied, and she rolled her eyes like he was being ridiculous but her hand found his and gripped it tight.

“I made you a present,” he said, changing the subject and tugging her further into the forge. He led her to his room and she perched on the bed while he unrolled a parcel on the table. I’ve adjusted the height and thickness per your specifications, m’lady,” he explained as he handed her the new staff. “The spear tips are dragon glass and steel forged together and possibly the sharpest I’ve ever made. I had the tanner make caps for the tips. Arya held the staff in her hands testing the balance, then ran her fingers over the leather casing the ends, beautifully tooled with a direwolf head. 

“Thank you,”Arya breathed, taking the cap off of one of the spear tips, her breath catching at the color. The blade wasn’t black like dragon glass or silver like steel, but the darkest gray she’d ever seen, and it absolutely gleamed in the light. It reminded Arya of one of her sister’s sparkling necklaces. It was a truly beautiful weapon, even if it wasn’t as decorative as Cat’s Paw. The staff itself seemed heavier and as she lifted it she raised a brow at Gendry in question. 

“I cored out the wood and put a steel rod inside. It’s thin, but it’s solid, so if you ever hold it up against a sword they might cut the wood but they won’t be able to slice all the way through.” Arya hadn’t thought of that. The Waif and she were always evenly matched with the wooden staffs aside from their last meeting, and the wights had been fast but clumsy in their movements, not precise like a true soldier. It was a good idea, and extremely thoughtful, even if it meant Arya would need to train a bit more to get used the weight. She gently laid the weapon down before flinging her arms around Gendry and kissing him feverishly. It wasn’t long before his fingers were working at the buttons on the front of the jerkin she wore while she pulled the laces of his breeches. 

...

“You’re brilliant you know,” she said softly later, her head resting on his bare shoulder while his fingers drew lazy circles up and down her spine. 

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” he replied teasingly, yelping when she smacked his chest hard.

“I meant the staff, stupid. I wouldn’t have thought to add the steel, and I’d’ve probably lost my head to a Lannister foot soldier because of it.” Gendry tightened his grip, pulling her body almost on top of his.

“Don’t ever say that. You’re not allowed to die, Arya.” His voice was calm but there was a storm behind his eyes. She kissed his cheek.

“Neither are you, bull.” She reached across him to pull her linen tunic back on, letting out a small chuckle at his sound of protest. “I have to go, I need to speak with Jon. Sansa said so.” Gendry scowled at the mention of Jon. He greatly admired the man, but he was not over the things Jon had said to him before he and Arya’d left after the battle. Arya promised they wouldn’t stay away long, and true to her word they didn't. 

The pair had camped in the woods east of Winterfell for three days in near silence, Arya working up the courage to tell Gendry the truth about her time with the Hound and then in Braavos. She didn’t meet his eyes as she spoke, hunching further in on herself as she described the ways she’d trained, ashamed of herself for trying to forget her family. 

By the time she’d stopped speaking she was sitting away from the fire, clutching her legs against her chest. Gendry stood and stoked the fire before walking toward her. He sat behind her, legs on either side of her hips, and wrapped his arms around her. He said nothing, just pulled her back against his chest to hold her, and the dam broke. She started crying quietly but soon she was sobbing, and Gendry knew it was the first time she’d done so since the day her father’s head rolled. It seemed like hours before her cheeks dried, but eventually they did and she turned in his hold to wrap her arms around his neck. He pressed soothing kisses to her hair and cheeks, anywhere he could reach, and when she finally made eye contact he took in her red face and swollen eyes and told her she was beautiful. 

They’d laid together in the tent in the woods that night, the first time since before the battle. Afterward he couldn’t stop looking at her sleeping in the crook of his arm, her naked frame so small against his. She was beautiful and strong and brave and she trusted him with the truth. He knew he loved her and he’d mumbled the words into her hair. She didn’t react, but she must’ve been awake because the next day she said them back and his breath caught at how open and honest her expression was. He stripped her of the clothes she’d just put on and made love to her, worshipping every inch of her body until she was shaking, and only then did he find his own pleasure. The next morning the Hound was sitting near their camp when they crawled out of the tent. The Hound took in Arya’s swollen lips, mussed hair, and neck littered with love bites, and then turned a murderous glare on Gendry. 

“So it’s like that,” he said as Arya moved to stand between the man and Gendry. 

“It’s however I say it is,” she nearly growled at him, and he held her eye for a moment before bowing his head in acceptance. “The fuck are you doing here anyway?”

“Just trying to make sure you cunts didn’t get fucking frostbite out here. Didn’t realize the bastard ‘smith was keeping your bed plenty warm.” Arya scowled at him but didn’t try to deny his words. Instead she pulled her cloak over her shoulders.

“I’m going to pull my nets in from the river,” she said looking at Gendry. “Don’t kill him,” she added, looking at the Hound as she walked away. Moments after her steps had faded to silence the Hound was up and brandishing his dragon glass axe at Gendry as he backed him against a tree. 

“Listen here, boy.” He started in a menacing whisper. “ That girl can and will gut you like a fish if you hurt her, but she won’t get the chance because I’ll use this fine weapon you made me to cut you into fucking pieces first. You understand me?” Gendry had gulped but his gaze was steady and his voice firm when he replied:

“I’ll never hurt her. I’d rather die than cause her any pain.” It must’ve been the right thing to say because the Hound looked at him for a long time before lowering his weapon and allowing Gendry to step away from the tree. He was brushing sap off the back of Gendry’s cloak when Arya returned. Sandor turned to address her.

“Listen, come back to the castle soon. Your brother is anxious to go south and Lady Sansa has insisted he wait until you’re present.” His voice was gruff but fond, Gendry noticed, and he seemed surprised when Arya nodded to him respectfully. “And you,” he turned to Gendry, “you’re the only decent smith in the north, don’t give her a reason to kill you.” Gendry flushed at the compliment and Arya laughed as she took Gendry’s hand, earning them both another look from the Hound. He shook his head in exasperation and took his leave, muttering something that sounded vaguely like ‘lovesick fucking fools’ as he stomped back through the forest. The pair returned to Winterfell that evening. 

That’d been five days ago, and he’d barely seen her since. As soon as Gendry got back to the forge he was inundated with work, sorting through the weapons they’d salvaged after the battle. Arya was also busy, though she had a bit more free time which she liked to spend watching him work. That evening was the most time they’d had together in days, and he was glad to have her with him again. 

“Gendry, not that I don’t love your room, but I really think we should sleep in mine instead,” she told him with a yawn.

“Why is that?”

“My bed is bigger, and my furs are warmer” she replied. 

“Ah but that’s part of my plan. Keep you in a tiny bed so you have to stay against me and keep me warm all night,” he explained with a smirk, kissing the crown of her head. She huffed a laugh and then crawled out of his arms to dress. It wasn’t late but it was getting there, those not at dinner were in their beds, and Arya wanted to see Jon before he went to his chambers for the night. She was buckling her belt and Gendry had just pulled on breeches and a tunic when there was a knock on the door.


	4. ARYA

She flattened her back against the wall next to the door, confident she’d be hidden from whomever was knocking. Gendry scrubbed his face with his hands and stuffed his feet into his boots before opening the door. They weren’t ashamed of each other, but given how private Arya was and Jon’s reaction to them being a couple they thought it best not to share it for now. She looked through the crack between the door and the wall as it opened and was surprised to see her brother Bran, Samwell Tarley behind him. 

“Gendry,” Sam greeted with a nod which was returned. “May we come in?”

“I-er- Lord Stark…” Gendry fumbled over his words and Arya had to fight the urge to massage her temples. Gods but he was hopeless.

“Don’t worry, we know she’s here. We’re here to speak with her.” Bran’s voice was soft but sure, without a hint of judgement or accusation.

Sansa and Jon struggled with their brother’s change into the Three Eyed Raven, but it was easier for Arya. In fact, she was probably the only Stark who could honestly say she liked spending time with this new version of her brother. She’d spent a fair amount of time being someone else, after all, and while she ached for what he’d gone through and the suffering he endured, she believed that just like Sansa and Jon and herself he’d come out stronger. He was quiet now, and spent much time in the Godswood. Arya would sit with him, whetstone between her knees and a rag tucked into her belt as she sharpened and cleaned Needle and Cat’s Paw. 

She’d first approached him there two days after her arrival in Winterfell, her steps silent despite the crunchy snow. Sansa told her he was changed, that he knew things, saw everything, and Arya had felt afraid. In the past eight years she’d done incredible, terrible things, and while she was not ashamed of herself or her actions she didn’t want her siblings to know the details. She wouldn’t be able to bear seeing fear or judgement in their eyes. Still, she need to know how much Bran truly knew, and if he hated her for the things she’d done to survive. 

“Bran,” she started, her voice strong despite her nerves.

“Arya Stark,” he acknowledged. “You’ve found your face again.” His voice was monotone but the corner of his mouth twitched. 

“I have, but I’ve come back different.” She confessed.

“So have I. I’m not Brandon Stark anymore, I am the Three Eyed Raven. I see all that has been and all that may come to be. You were a faceless man, and you served the many faced god well.” He paused, tilting his head as he looked up at her. “We have both undergone journeys designed to put us right here, beneath this very tree.” Despite no discernible change in his expression or tone she felt comforted by his words. She could feel in her soul that Bran spoke the truth, he could see the past and the many futures before them. From then on, when his long stare would settle on her she didn’t avoid it like Sansa or question it like Jon, she simply tilted her head in acknowledgement. He’d seen the best and worst of her and judged her worthy, and that was enough. 

And now here Bran was at Gendry’s door, waiting expectantly for her to step out from her hiding place. She moved silently to stand beside Gendry who had thankfully ceased his stammering. 

“Brother,” she said.

“Sister,” he replied. “We’ve come to discuss several important matters.” He pointedly turned his head to the table and two chairs. Arya pulled Gendry across the room and pushed him down into a chair while Sam rolled Bran to the table before taking the other seat. Arya herself stood next to Gendry still as stone with her hands clasped behind her back. Her eyes were sharp and she focused completely on her brother across from her.

“I know the boon you’re planning to request of Daenerys Targaryen, but you must not. Arya made a questioning sound in the back of her throat and Bran continued. “You wouldn’t be happy, and neither would he, with that outcome. She will grant the request, legitimize him and celebrate him as the last Baratheon, but only to ensure the storm lands are loyal to her cause and to keep you complacent.” Gendry was looking between her and Bran in confusion. She hadn’t gotten around to telling him her plan to have him legitimized. 

“Very well. What must I do instead?” Her tone was even, despite her fear that without being legitimized there might be no future for her and Gendry. 

“You must demand independence for the North” Gendry and Sam both gasped at the declaration but aside from narrowing her eyes at her brother Arya didn’t react. After a few moments she spoke again, her voice demanding instead of curious.

“Why?” 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” Bran replied cryptically. 

“But even if the North is part of Westeros there would still be a Stark. Perhaps when she takes the Iron Throne Jon will go with her, and perhaps you don’t count yourself because of what you are now, but Sansa would remain here as Lady of Winterfell...” Arya’s brow furrowed as she tried to puzzle out what Bran was telling her. In this moment she wished he was more direct, but she knew that was not the way of the three eyed raven. She was surprised he’d been so straightforward at the beginning of the conversation to be honest. 

“Sansa is brilliant and beautiful. She was well taught by some of the greatest minds in Westeros; Tyrion, Littlefinger, even Cersei. She is well loved in the north, by our banner men, our people, and our brother.” Bran made each statement sound like an absolute fact. He was leading her with his words, and she was almost there. She thought of her beautiful sister sitting in the dining hall, her posture relaxed, goblet in hand, relaxed and smiling as she laughed with Jon and the northerners and th wildlings alike. Winterfell was her home, she  _ owned  _ the castle, and it was obvious. Suddenly it clicked. 

“She feels threatened by Sansa. She’s going to try to marry her off!” Arya’s hand grasped Cats Paw at her hip, absolute fury settling in her core. She’d cut the dragon bitch’s tongue out of her mouth before she even had a chance to suggest a suitor for her sweet sister, dragons be damned. Arya’s control started slipping, but she came back to herself when Gendry put his arm around her waist, his big hand pulling her small one away from the dagger so he could tangle their fingers together.

“Even if Sansa was sent away Jon would have to come to Winterfell as warden of the north, though.” Bran’s gaze hadn’t waivered from hers and she felt like she was missing something huge.

“There must always be a STARK in Winterfell, Arya.”

“But Jon-” she caught Sam’s face, expression sad as he shook his head.

“He’s not a Stark.” She said the words, saw Sam nod at them, but they didn’t make any sense. Even as a bastard Jon was still a Stark, still the son of their father, Ned Stark, possibly the most honorable man in Westeros. So honorable that people had been shocked when he returned from Dorne with a bastard boy. A boy whose mother no one knew. And why had her father been in Dorne during the war anyway? To find his sister, her aunt Lyanna. Lyanna who’d been kidnapped and raped by Rhaegar Targaryen. Understanding hit her like a lightning bolt and she collapsed into Gendry’s lap, head in her hands.

“He’s a Targaryen,” she whispered. Gendry let out a sharp exhale and his arms briefly tightened where they were wrapped around her but he said nothing. 

“Yes,” Sam said. “A legitimate one. Rhaegar and Lyanna were in love. He had his marriage to Elia Martell annulled and then married your aunt before Jon was born. Bran saw it, and I found the records at the citadel. His true name is Aegon Targaryen.” Sam said it all in one long breath, like he’d been holding it in for so long that he couldn’t anymore.

“Does Jon know? And Daenerys?” Her voice was small, dull. 

“He does, and so does she. He told her before the battle.” Arya sighed deeply. “Now you understand, sister,” Bran said. He then tilted his head toward the door and Sam jumped up to push his chair out.

“Yes, I understand,” she said sadly, gazing at Gendry. Bran caught the motion.

“It matters not that he has no name to give you, Arya, when you have a name to give him. He is, after all, part of our pack.” He smiled at them then, small but true, and Arya felt her heart speed up. Her brother was right. Gendry was her pack, and she would make it official. She stood suddenly, pulling him up with her. She grasped his hands as she looked into his eyes.

“Gendry, will you marry me?” 

“Arya-“

“Will you love me and stay by my side always, even if that means staying here in the north? Will you give up the names Baratheon and Waters? Will you join me and my family? Will you take my name? Will you become Gendry Stark of Winterfell?” Gendry’s eyes were wide and Arya could read the emotions there: surprise, confusion, love. He looked at Bran beseechingly. 

“I will consent, as will Lady Sansa.” Bran answered his unspoken question. Gendry fell to his knees before her, his head pressed to her stomach, hands grasping hers, and a second later she dropped to join him. His eyes shone with unshed tears as they met hers. 

“Of course, m’lady.” She laughed and they surged toward each other into a kiss. Bran and Sam left them there, pulling the door shut behind them. Arya couldn’t be bothered to watch them go, too busy taking in the absolutely awed look on Gendry’s face. She felt giddy, she would have Gendry and remain Arya Stark. 

Eventually the pair made their way back to Gendry’s bed pressed together much like they had been an hour earlier, though this time fully clothed. As the euphoria of Bran’s solution wore off Arya’s thoughts turned to Jon. She didn’t know how to feel. A name did not make a man, Arya had said that to Gendry often enough years ago when they were children and even more over the past few days as they argued about marriage and she believed it fervently. That being said, Jon saw himself in much the same way as her love, unworthy without a name, a mistake. Perhaps now that he knew who he was he wouldn’t want to be part of her pack anymore. How could she expect him to be a wolf when he was truly a dragon? Gendry put his finger under her chin and lifted her face to his.

“Jon will always love you and he will always be your brother. That was true when his name was Jon Snow and it will be true when he is Jon Targaryen.” She bit her lip but nodded. He was right, she knew. She pressed a soft kiss to his lips and then buried her face in his neck to breathe in the sweat and ash and musk that made up his scent. Then she rose and made her way to the door. She heard him move behind her and a second later his arms were around her waist.

“I love you,” he whispered against her cheek before kissing her there and releasing her. 

“Love you,” she said back, and then slipped out his door and into the darkness, quickly disappearing with silent steps. She needed to see Jon, now more than ever.


	5. JON

He liked eating in the hall. He sat where his father -uncle- used to sit and watched the men and women talk and joke and eat. The long night had ended and the survivors’ spirits were high. Tonight, however, he felt lonely. Sansa and Arya had been absent this evening and Jon knew they were supping together in Sansa’s rooms. It irked him just slightly that he hadn’t been invited to join them, but he shook the jealousy off. Daenerys hadn’t joined him for dinner in the hall since the battle as she mourned her losses. Sam and Bran had left quite early into the meal and even Tormund, his constant companion was nowhere to be found. Still, Jon stayed until only a few men were left and the maids were clearing the tables. He stood to leave and met the Hound at the door. 

“Ser Clegane,” he greeted.

“Your Grace,” the Hound said in reply. 

“I wonder if I could as you about the time you spent with my sister…” Sandor glared. 

“What about me and your sister,” he growled.

“Well, I just don’t know much about where Arya was after King’s Landing…” the Hound’s posture seemed to relax a little, his expression less defensive than it had been. 

“Not much to tell. I dragged the little wolf-bitch halfway across Westeros and then she left me to die and I didn’t see her again until we got here from King’s Landing.” Clegane’s voice was fond, and Jon felt like there was more to it. He’d seen the way Clegane was around Arya, rude and foul-mouthed as ever, but also distinctly protective. When they were together and someone approached he instinctively moved between them, his huge body shielding Arya from anyone who could be a threat, and Jon had seen it happen often enough, studied the look on his sister’s face often enough, that he knew she knew what he was doing and found it charming, if unnecessary. He made her laugh far more often than anyone except perhaps Gendry, and while he didn’t hold back when they sparred he often sat with her to discuss her technique afterward, essentially giving her tips on how to beat him. 

Before he could reply he heard steps at the end of the hall and looked up to see Sansa smiling at the Hound. She schooled her expression into her usual serene mask when the large man moved and she caught sight of Jon behind him. As she drew next to them she dipped into a small curtsey at Jon before turning. 

“Ser Clegane, I wonder if you might escort me to my room? It seems my sworn shield has taken the evening off.” Sansa was smiling at the man, not the least put out as she mentioned Brienne’s absence, placing her small hand in the crook of the huge knight’s arm. “Good night, Jon,” she called over her shoulder as Clegane led her down the hall. His head was bent toward hers, her face turned up to look at him, and as they turned the corner Jon noticed the flagon and two cups grasped in the man’s other hand. It was leaking as it jostled when he walked, and Jon was surprised to notice the liquid spilling out was crystal clear, not red wine or amber ale. Curious, Jon started to follow them down the hall, but a voice from the opposite direction stopped him. 

“Your grace,” Arya called out. He turned to see her near the doors. She was still but her expression was inviting, beckoning him to her, and he had no choice but to go.

“Jon is fine, you know,” he said when he reached her. Arya said nothing in reply, instead turning back to the door she must’ve just entered from. 

“Will you join me for a walk up the battlements,” she asked as she pulled the door open. He nodded and fell into step beside her as they went outside and toward the torch-lined stairs that would lead them onto the castle walls. She was silent as they climbed, her every movement deliberate as she led them to their destination. Only when they reached the highest tower along the wall did she stop and turn to him.

“I’m going to marry Gendry.” Her eyes held his as she made the declaration, but he noticed her shoulders hunch ever so slightly, as though she was preparing for a blow. Jon instantly felt guilty, but he still couldn’t stop the argument from bubbling out of him.

“He’s not good enough for you!” Arya’s head dropped at his exclamation and her jerkin shifted just enough to see a days-old love bite still purpling the side of her neck. Jon took two big steps toward her, pressing his fingers against the bruise hard enough that she flinched, but she didn’t turn her weapon on him. He was furious at the sight of it. “I should cut that bastard’s hands off for daring to touch you!” She stepped back at the threat, her spine straightening.

“And will you cut mine off for touching him back? Will you cut my tongue out for asking him to?” She was yelling back at him, which she hadn’t done since she was eight years old. It surprised him enough that his response died on his lips, but she didn’t notice. “He’s protected me since I was ten years old, and I protected him! I loved him then when I was a child who didn’t even know what love was and I love him now, and he loves me! I’m not asking your permission, Jon, I’m telling you I’m going to marry him, and he’s going to be my family. Are you going to be my family?” Her final words caught his attention.

“Arya what… Of course I’m your family!” She was facing him now, her fists clenched and breathing hard. He hadn’t seen her this out of control since they’d been reunited. 

“Are you? Are you Jon Snow, my bastard brother? Or are you Aegon Targaryen?” Jon gasped, taking a step back. Arya’s words had been designed to wound him and wound him they did, but she wasn’t done. “Have you traded in your wolf for a dragon? Is that why i never see you with Ghost anymore? Is that why you’re so hellbent on following this new queen on a death march south instead of listening to Sansa who is only speaking reason? Is that why you suddenly feel entitled to judging bastards, as if you didn’t spend your entire life trying to prove there was no shame in being one?” Arya was advancing toward him, taking a step with every word she uttered, and he was taking steps back to match her. Finally he felt his legs meet the stone of the wall behind him and he slumped against the wall. He and Arya were nearly eye-level and she was so close only a few inches separated their noses. Fury lit her gray eyes, so similar to his own, and for a moment he thought she actually might draw her dagger, so he dropped his eyes from hers and slid down the wall until he was seated on the stones beneath his feet. She watched him, but when she noticed the fight had gone out of him it went out of her as well. She kneeled in front of them, making them eye level once more. She reached for his hand, holding it in her own. 

“I’m sorry. I was cruel, and I shouldn’t have been. I didn’t intend to yell at you when I asked you up here.” She bowed her head and took a breath. “Jon, I loved you when your name was Snow and my mother treated you like the dirt stuck to her boots. I always considered you worthy, not because you had a good name but because you were a good brother, a good person. How could I ever judge Gendry for his name when I loved you despite yours? And how could you judge him for the same reason? If he was a Baratheon would that make him suddenly worthy?” Her voice was soft now, curious, and he had to be honest in return.

“No. That wouldn’t make him worthy.” She looked up at him, eyes wide. “No man will ever be worthy of you, little sister. You are the best person I know, and I cannot accept any man who wants you. As children I didn’t have to share you and I don’t want to share you now!” Arya shifted off her knees to sit cross-legged in front of him. “I know that’s ridiculous and unfair, but I can’t help it. So much has changed, but you’re my little sister, my favorite, and it’s too hard to know that I’m not your favorite anymore.” She sighed.

“You’ll always be my favorite big brother, Jon. But you cannot expect me to follow where you go always. You cannot expect me to exist as your shadow.”

“I don’t!” He interrupted.

“You do. Listen to what you’re saying to me. No man is worthy of me to marry, you want to be the only man in my life, the only person I show affection to. 

“I don’t exist for you, I don’t belong to you. I don’t belong to anyone but myself. Gendry, he doesn’t want to own me or change me, he just wants to be with me. He just wants to spend the rest of his life making me as happy as I make him. How can you say he is unworthy knowing that?” Jon felt his eyes grow moist looking at his little sister, now a woman grown and in love. She was right of course, and now that his temper had cooled he could see it. He’d been ridiculous, demanding and entitled and everything Sansa had warned him not to be, but Arya hadn’t stabbed him despite how much he might’ve deserved it. She was still sitting in front of him, still holding his hand, her eyes pleading with him to understand. 

He thought of Ygritte for the first time in months, and he let out a wet chuckle as he mumbled, “You know nothing, Jon Snow.” Arya cocked her head at him. “Ygritte told me that. She was a wildling woman. I met her north of the wall. She had red hair like Sansa, kissed by fire the wildlings call it, but her attitude was all you. She was never afraid to tell me I was being stupid or put me in my place. She was a force of nature, and I fell in love with her. And then I abandoned her. She stuck me with three arrows as I left to go back to the Night’s Watch.” John smiled at the memory, despite the tears streaming down his face. 

“Did you see her again?” Arya asked softly. He looked up at her.

“Once more. She attacked Castle Black, had her arrow knocked and aimed at my heart, but she couldn’t fire, and when she hesitated she was shot from behind. She died in my arms.” Arya had tears in her eyes as well, and she squeezed his hands. He knew what he wanted to ask her.

“Gendry, would you die for him?” She didn’t look away, didn’t even blink, as she replied.

“I would. I’d die for him, and I’d die for Sansa and Bran and you and the North, all without a second thought. But that’s not the right question to ask, Jon. Dying is easy. It takes nothing to die. What’s hard is to survive,” she took a breath,” and Gendry… he makes me want to do more than survive. He makes me want to truly  _ live _ .” Jon thought about his little sister watching their father be murdered, going through things he still didn’t even know the details of to survive, crossing an ocean, training to be a killer. He imagined the many times she probably wanted to give up but didn’t, and he reached forward to pull her into a hug. 

“Then you should marry him,” he whispered into her hair. “I won’t stop you.” She squeezed him tight and he felt her tears against his neck. They sat on top of the tower a while longer, but eventually the chill set into their bones and they made their way back to the courtyard below. As they reached the last step he looked at her again only to see her face blank, her carefully constructed mask back in place. They parted ways just inside the doors, he turning to head toward his chambers and she making for the kitchens.

“We still have much to talk about,” Jon said before she could walk away. He wanted to know everything about their time apart and he felt she might be a little more willing to share with him now. He also wanted to know how she knew about his true parentage.

“We do,” she agreed, “but not tonight. Perhaps I’ll find you before dinner tomorrow evening, big brother.” Her tone was affectionate and when she called him big brother he released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. They would be okay, he thought to himself, smiling as he made his way to his chambers. He was in such a good mood he pretended not to see Ser Clegane saying goodbye to Sansa at her door, and he even managed to ignore the way the man blushed when she kissed his cheek. One sister in love was enough for now, and Gendry was a far easier pill to swallow than Sandor Clegane. Besides, he was much less likely to win a fight against the Hound. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Hope you liked it!  
> Kudos give me life, comments are always appreciated, and I'd love to hear from you over on my Tumblr: mishapslikesinkingships.tumblr.com!


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